


Ways and Means

by KarboniteManeuver



Category: Naruto
Genre: Back in the saddle finally, Blow Jobs, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Jealousy, Kinktober, Kinktober 2019, Licking, M/M, Oral Sex, Revenge, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-01-02 20:40:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21167552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KarboniteManeuver/pseuds/KarboniteManeuver
Summary: Day Twelve: LickingEverything has point and counterpoint, and dealing in secrets means putting forth the requisite effort to obtain them





	1. Chapter 1

His head tilted back into it, the long tongue running up the side of his neck, wet and warm. He’d always been more reactive than he’d liked, even back during academy— there’d been an ongoing joke, making fun of him that his pretty features were all he had going for him 

That he’d probably been fucking the chunin teachers for further points, after all— Kabuto was really nothing special was he?

Orochimaru though, had cultivated him, body and mind— made use of his sharp edges, a natural cunning that he hid from others, tucked gently into his tool kit. Being amiable, fostering relationships until they bore the type of useful fruit that kept him in the good graces of the village was an overlooked skill, after all. 

The rumors hadn’t been wrong though— he was far from ‘innocent’ by the time he’d been recruited into the older man’s ranks. 

He had spread for them, not the chunin teachers as had been expected— probably worse by the ‘standard’ of Konoha. Information came at a price. It was easy to place anyone’s face over the men driving into him— sating their vices while pretty secrets spilled from their lips into his eager and awaiting ears.

It was easy to take the ANBU, bodies still primed by solider pills, let them use him while he pulled forth from them the essence of their missions, a sacrificial piece, a place to lay the burdens of their weary minds. 

The jounin weren’t substantially different, though more cultured and surprisingly more discerning with who they bedded. The masks of the ANBU, though occasionally a lacquered veneer over an open secret, also often lent itself to a borderline brazen confidence, that they were somehow untouchable in their anonymity. The jounin however, came with responsibility and refined rank. Their secrets mattered, often offering more than just the individual tidbits that the ANBU were given requisite to the success of their individual missions. 

Then there was Danzo— who wasn’t a ‘lover’ so much as a shrewd puppeteer, selfish in each interaction— just as he was outside of the sheets. Entitled, willing to bruise and break, to influence and lie, inexpertly— driven to rage by petty ambition. The doggedness of the man was something in a league of its own, sidled immediately beside his authority complex. Danzo had never been a favorite, he was, at best, a necessary evil-- a hazard of the job that Kabuto had cultivated for himself. He was the type of man who required an unnecessary amount of effort, years of psychological baggage stacked atop the wounded ego of someone who never got what he felt were his just dues. After several sessions of staring absently at the ceiling over Danzo’s shoulder, legs spread, missionary tangled in the rich sheets of the man’s futon muttering thoughtless and undeserved praises, the bastard had finally indulged his suggestion to ‘let him try’ alcohol in the care of someone ‘older and wiser’. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he’d hoped that in addition to loosening the man’s tongue that it might also make him more inventive… Unfortunately, It only made his strokes more poorly timed as the ever-inadequate man grunted and rutted against him, oblivious to his own feigned enthusiasm. 

However, it was through Danzo, that he’d met his master— the man who’d offered him nearly limitless opportunity to dissect and dismantle, and a veritable playground of endless test subjects, with only the periodic request to work towards specific goals. As long as he made adequate progress, he was free to tinker as he pleased, his subjects plied with enough drugs and chakra suppressants that he didn’t have to deal with the irritating screaming that had threatened to break his concentration back when he’d been forced to work in the woods on the naive war orphans he’d occasionally managed to collect.

Orochimaru’s nails came in sharp angry lines down the length of his spine, tracing it by the vertebrae, a solid pressure against each as though counting the number it would take to render him lifeless. Smooth hands followed the lightly muscle flesh of his side, moving to grip his hips from behind, controlled anger with an ever honeyed edge. It was belaid by the honesty in his voice though, colored with the type of lust and tension that was usually only reserved for subtle remarks towards his future or potential targets-- the type that lied without second thought, promised with one hand and suffocated with the other...

He leaned back into the touch, hoping that his master was in a charitable mood— without the unnecessary and complicated power dynamics that the man was clearly so used to in his dealings with his underlings, with the traitors tucked neatly within the useful folds of Konoha and the other hidden villages. 

The grip on his hips tightened and despite the control with which he wielded himself, Kabuto couldn’t help but offer the ghost of a smile, something private, a stored memory simply for himself… A testament to the successes that had brought him there. 

He groaned as fingers raked down his chest, an inversion of the blossoming stripes along his spine, as those fingers moved to cup him, hands firm against the planes of his erection, held tight against the now taut fabric of his clothing.

It was a gift, a stolen moment shared only between the two of them. Kabuto wasn’t foolish to believe that it was only himself that could have caught Orochimaru’s favor or attentions— that he was the only one able to capture or satiate the man’s lust. Inherent in the man himself, one of the legendary sannin, was the type of thirst that drew blood from more than one lover, that slit the throats of loved and loathed alike… While it would have been an unfortunate end, Kabuto couldn’t help but think that it somehow was a greater honor than dying within the confines of the paltry existence he had managed to eek out within the walls of Konoha.

However, for the moments that the man was inside of him, consuming him, tongue running and wrapping along every part of his body— dipping inside of him, working him, smooth skin of body against body... It was easy to forget the past, the things he’d needed to do to carve out a living as a war orphan, to function as a young man who made his worth trading in secrets...


	2. A matter of intention;

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jealousy, unflattering and human— but also unfortunately not something Kabuto has wholly managed to discard yet.

Was it supposed to be someone else? Anyone else? Each cultivated body and willing spirit was a potential opportunity, a paramour. The tastes varied, but only slightly— blood line limit, able to withstand trial after trial, to carry on, like a line of self-progeny. 

Kabuto had lost count at this point. There had been Anko, memory wiped and left on Konoha’s door step, a surprising act of pity on his Master’s part. Though with the curse mark searing with mere proximity, a small smirk creased his lips. Maybe not...

The elder Uchiha, though—given the sharingan— wasn’t a surprise. However, Orochimaru’s advances had been rebuked in... no uncertain terms. 

Kimimaro, who had been willing to give everything, to his dying breath... Fingers tightened around the scalpel. It was foolish to give oneself over to an ouroboros incarnate. Orochimaru’s thirst for power was an entity unto itself, future shells were just that. A snap, the echo of it deafening throughout the cavernous room, a stark contrast to the muted, subtle hum of computers and machinery to keep him company. Dull pain blossomed from the source and the line and trickle of blood warm over cool handles, surgeon still, joined it without hesitation. He really needed to stop doing that. It was unflattering and a waste of resources. 

He frowned, raising his hand, gingerly pulling the wedge of smooth surgical grade steel from it, casting it to the side with the small clatter against swept stone floor. He closed the distance, footsteps ringing, to the antiseptic before summoning forth the chakra into jutsu. Rote memorization, muscle memory. Familiar, but never a challenge. Certainly the jutsu should’ve been enough on its own, but there was no sense in letting something get necrotic over such a simple oversight. Especially not when something so base and dispensable as petty human emotion was the cause. 

Then... Then. There was the younger Uchiha, who had somehow managed to get away with his seemingly endless supply of snotty retorts without being impaled by any of the other subjects or his master himself. Orochimaru wasn’t a forgiving man, to tolerate something like that... when he’d reacted to icily to so many barbless comments of Kabuto’s own...

Ridiculous. Certainly it was no secret that the Uchiha was likely able to take on and defeat most, if not all, of the other subjects, with the exception of himself and Orochimaru. However, his cheek and attitude in the face of those more powerful than himself, in the face of things like rank or seniority... Was grating, to say the least. 

Not to mention the nasty little trick that Hatake had instilled in him prior to his untimely defection from Konoha. Kabuto let out a sigh, fingers unconsciously pressing up the bridge of his glasses and brushing away the single bead of sweat at his hairline. 

The replacement scalpel spread the flesh below it seamlessly, jutsu to staunch blood flow, the work beneath him unconscious beneath deft fingers. For as much as Orochimaru spoke of discovering new jutsu, it seemed his primary function between the two of them involved the manipulation and scouting of targets, a ‘point’ man of sorts. 

What had he been like in his youth? What had inspired the quest that had led to the destruction of so many clans? Something so simple as the fear of dying? Perhaps it was the time he’d spent in medic training speaking, but the loss of life was a neutral topic at best. On the most utilitarian level, everything died eventually. 

The subject’s chakra point had been ruptured, byakugan most likely— nothing more than an irritance. Capable, most assuredly, but to put in the effort to repair it, for this particular man, wasn’t worth it. 

He let out a sigh, gathered and ran a tendril of his own chakra through the blade and severed the rest. He set the scalpel neatly on the metal medical tray, requisite clang stifled by a layer of thin towel. What a waste of time. 

\- - -

Potential, that was what all of this came down to, wasn’t it? Orochimaru had told him, a handful of times even, that he trusted him, but the proverbial collar at his throat dug in and ran the flesh raw. Each glance that lasted too long, each forgiveness for Sasuke’s petty retorts or tantrums... Another pawn, this time played under living hand, kept close and personal. He let himself sink beneath the surface of the water, as the heat of it became something dense and all consuming. The breath he’d taken deep burned with the weight of humidity, but he held it, opening his eyes to the sting of the water, unwelcome against bare pupil. Everything stood suspended, his hair floating eerily around him, his pale skin something foreign and otherworldly in the dank lighting in the recesses of yet another snake hole. 

It would be easy enough to make all of it stop. No more ridiculous games of cat and mouse, waiting for the subtle stroke of ego, a bone thrown to him to keep him compliant. If Orochimaru wanted the Uchiha that badly... 

A semi-coherent stream of bubbles slipped from his nose, rising to and breaking the surface, unobtrusive. Something tugged at the emotion, tucked neatly in its own box, the one with the crumpled label of pride, barely hanging onto it. It was something he had long given up by other people’s standards— the men he had spread for, the lies he had whispered and the blood that had long since soaked into the marble exterior of his countenance, all in the name of secrets. 

However, at this point, if he really considered it, playing second fiddle, letting himself remain pliant while he waited for the highest bidder for Orochimaru’s head on a stake... it would take time. 

Certainly he could extradite him to Konoha, offer him, half alive and bleeding out to the other two remaining Sannin, keep the Uchiha as a bargaining piece to lure out the Jinchuuriki for the Nine Tails as an offering to Akatsuki... 

It was a lot of work, a thought to be tucked away for later. However, currently, his master was a frustration, an inconvenience— a simple thorn. Besides, it wasn’t as though the singular ‘good deed’ of bringing Orochimaru to his knees would grant him clemency in the eyes of any of the major villages. He would merely end up under the thumb of someone like Danzo... again. A man of short-sighted ambitions, each piece a part in a large power struggle, an ego stroke for the inadequate.

He allowed the rest of the air to leave him, for the weight of the water to become something oppressive, a concern. He allowed himself the precipice of unconsciousness, of dreamless sleep before hands broke the surface of the water and pulled him back to present. 

Sasuke glared down at him, concept written into every line of his body. His hair seemed somehow more tamed within the dense humidity, and he couldn’t help but wonder how long the younger man had been sitting, waiting for him to resurface... or not. 

‘If you’re quite finished being melodramatic, there are others within the compound who would like to take a bath.”

He should have made it quicker, being browbeaten by arrogance incarnate, masquerading within the too pretty form of someone so many years his junior, was something he could easily do without on even the best of days. 

He let out a sigh, slicked wet hair out of his face and reached, not quite blindly for the glasses he had left lovingly upon neatly folded clothing. 

In what he could only infer was barbed good will, Sasuke had extended a clean, white terry towel to him, his eyes averted. It wasn’t anything the younger man hadn’t seen before. 

Kabuto’s eyes narrowed slightly, knowing smirk crawling from the depths to grace the other with a face that too many had seen only just before things went black forever. 

“What, feeling lonely?” 

He took the towel, unhurriedly, and wrapped it deftly around thin hips. Eyes never leaving Sasuke. Would he be too conceited to deign to reply? Seconds hung in the air between them, a single line of sweat slipping from Sasuke’s hairline. Tension and release, like cutting marionette strings, 

“Perhaps I should let our master know? I’m sure that he would be more than willing to make sure his new pet is adequately entertained, that is, assuming you haven’t been too frigid to his advances...” 

A small solar flare had the sharingan on him instantly, every nerve primed and tense, too long lashes narrowed with the curve of each eyelid. Hm... Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad having him here after all, he hadn’t gotten that much of a reaction from anyone since the Chuunin exams...

He cleared his face, a look of naive innocence, the subtle head tilt, “Or am I misunderstanding? My apologies. Enjoy your bath.” He offered the smallest bow, the extent of courtesy he was willing to part with and made for the door. His hand had reached the worn copper of the handle, a slim, ornately carved snake— the architect probably dead by now, when he heard the beginnings of a syllable on Sasuke’s lips.

“Wait.”

He could take him, far before his master got the chance... The click of gears and a lock somewhere within the recesses of himself came undone and as ink tainted water, something dark trickled and then gushed forth. It sat, suggesting, whispering... would that be enough? His smirk widened, unseen, his hand still on the copper snake set against the aged wood, damp and dark. Yes. Yes, it could be quite enough. 

Mask replaced he turned slowly, schooling his expression, stifling the glee that flooded him like a match about to be cast to oil. 

“Yes?” 

“Would he find out?” That you’re making a pact with his old favorite plaything? His theoretical second in command? Probably. 

“Not if you don’t tell him.” The lies came easily, just as they always had. 

Sasuke’s eyes averted, muted charcoal once again— the fire contained. He couldn’t help but wonder, if any loss of control could pull it forth, especially in a less experienced user. It was an experiment he’d have to keep an eye on.


	3. 理由 (riyuu | motive )

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Years of being passed over has had something ugly growing within himself, for Kabuto-- the Uchiha represented an irritance, at best, or so he thought;

The weight in his mouth was heavy, familiar. Warm, wet tongue against smooth, silken flesh— there was the subtle roll of nerves, a ripple beneath the skin as Sasuke actively worked to hold himself in place, to not allow his hips forward into the pliant, waiting mouth before him. 

It was a skill Kabuto had always prided himself on, to wrap his tongue around a man, keeping him strung up, at his own mercy and whim. 

It was cute, watching Sasuke squirm, as though in weaponized wire strings, bound tight, unable to even struggle within their clutch.

His hands rose, the sides of his thumbs sliding in the crooks of toned and taut thigh muscle, an intentional press just at the edge of uncomfortable. The resultant hiss, music to his ears. 

He hadn’t expected Sasuke to watch, though it wasn’t surprising, a genjutsu user rapt in his attention, tracing every movement, cataloguing, as Kabuto hollowed his cheeks, taking him deeper.

A low groan, half stifled, as he pulled back, tongue cupping the underside of the Uchiha’s cock. 

“Should I make you beg?” Tongue slid forth, tracing the line of his own lips, the slick precome faintly bitter. “Or are you still too proud?” 

Sasuke’s eyes narrowed, a breath caught, his body betraying him. 

“I think I like you better with you mouth occupied, or your head beneath the water’s surface...”

A smirk quirked across thin lips, eyes rising to meet the other’s as he took Sasuke in hand, fingertips ghosting against delicate flesh. 

“For as much as you protest, you don’t seem to mind much.” 

The last word punctuated by Kabuto’s fingers closing around the younger man, smooth palm firm against warm skin. 

He watched as the Uchiha’s vision flickered, grin spreading like flame to kindling before he could stop it. Boasting wasn’t flattering on anyone, even if putting the younger man in his place was something worth gloating about.

“As much as this may shock you I’m not here for the conversation.” 

“No? And here I thought we were starting to become friends. Perhaps it isn’t the same as being in the company of the jinchuuriki, what was his name again? Naru—“

Fist gripped the hollow of his throat before he could form the last syllable. Chakra bleeding forth, a torrent of hot rage as though from a dam, broken through on a stress fracture unable to hold. 

The words came out on the edge of a razor, “Do not. speak. his. name.” 

Kabuto allowed his expression to soften, attractive and self-effacing, as though it discounted the needling that brought the boy to more than his usual simmer. 

“Forgive me... Sasuke-kun.” 

The final touch, icing on the proverbial cake, spite and ill will, of a secret soon to be shared between them. It was survival. It had always been about survival. 

“Shall we continue?”

Longer fingers released, sliding upwards, trailing gently over sensitive ears before weaving into silver hair beneath. A moment of delicacy, then the grip, pulling Kabuto forward, cock pressing to his lips with narrowed eyes on him, his actions not a suggestion, or a request. 

Low chuckle reverberated forth and Kabuto granted him entrance, sliding him into his mouth once more as the fingers tightened in his hair. It wasn’t that he was unfamiliar with the roughness, so much that he hadn’t allowed himself to be treated in such a manner anytime in recent memory-- Orochimaru moving onto to fresher, newer prey. 

The older man paused, centering himself. Breath coming through his nose-- consciously relaxing his nerves at the intrusion as he allowed Sasuke into his throat, allowed him to bottom out. 

A soft groan, quiet in the space between them-- sound muffled into nothing within the confines of Sasuke’s room, surrounding walls, like the rest of the compound, the same thick stone. He’d allowed the boy to think the location was his choice, but perhaps, if memorable enough, it would give the Uchiha something to think about in the dense and heavy silence of each passing night.

Sasuke pulled him tighter, allowing himself a modicum deeper, pressing himself to the strain that seemed to characterize his entire time under Orochimaru’s care. Kabuto’s mind blanked momentarily in tandem with his oxygen supply. 

“Y-You… certainly seem to have practice with this.” 

Faint smirk formed around the boy, as he allowed himself to the extent that either of them would both be able to reach, the spit in his mouth thick to compensate. The boy’s head tilting back was proof enough of his skill level, quiet complaint on his lips, barely even a formed word-- more a collection of syllables as Kabuto pulled back almost fully, soft lips sucking at the tip of him, tongue tracing the sensitive flesh usually protected by foreskin. 

He pulled off completely, hand pressing to the uncomfortable concrete beneath his knees-- as though making to leave, a feint. 

“Don’t even think of leaving me like this.” 

His smirk was full this time, nothing impeding it. 

“My, demanding aren’t you. Does it do me any good to stay here? After all, isn’t this just another type of training? Besides, it isn’t as though you’ve accepted me as any kind of superior, let alone your teacher.” 

The look that Sasuke shot him was beyond venomous. An Uchiha trait, no doubt. He couldn’t help the smile that bloomed on his lips in reply. 

“Well?” 

Silence, the hand that shifted to grip his chin more than reply enough. 

Kabuto couldn’t help but chuckle, stubborn to the last, wasn’t he? A challenge then, wasn’t it? To break the boy before him, have him on the edge of coherent, screaming his name with hands fisting sheets as he arched off of them… Orochimaru none the wiser. 

He allowed it, the fingers soft against his face, though still not exactly a request, it was certainly not with the demanding arrogance they’d been before. He opened his mouth once more-- chaste kisses along the length of Sasuke’s cock to the base. His head tilted, dipping deeper as his mouth took the delicate skin of one of the boy’s balls into his mouth, sucking gently. 

The chill that rolled through him was a flatteringly satisfying electric current as he bucked forward, the smooth side of his cock warm against Kabuto’s cheek. He allowed himself further, taking the boy more fully into his mouth, basking in the groan as he applied suction. 

If Sasuke was this sensitive to his ministrations with only this, the idea of either having him beneath him, or being beneath the boy himself, it was an attractive prospect to say the least.


End file.
